Revenge of the Rose Read Free Page A

Jouglet, intuitively and entirely.
    Willem was followed out of the stable by the groom, who led three saddled horses. Together they passed a wooden tub of soaking walnuts, the rabbit-tortured herb garden, and the little wooden chapel, before stopping in front of the hall steps.
    At the top of the steps, Lienor clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, this will be such a treat! And such a change in our domestic philosophy,” she added, pointedly. “Surely you’ve noticed, Willem prefers that I am not the hunter but the prey— of rich men in search of a mate.”
    Jouglet loomed over her and crooned suggestively, in a husky tenor voice, “Do you blame the rich men? If I were a rich man, I’d try to mate you.”
    Lienor looked delighted by the declaration; Willem said, “Behave yourself, fellow,” but only because he knew he ought to.
    “Yes, you’ll never be able to marry me off if word gets around that I’ve been cozying up to some migrant musician,” said Lienor, smiling. She and Jouglet descended the steps together, white hand resting on tanned one.
    “I’m only trying to help, friend,” Jouglet assured Willem. “I’ve been trained to cozy up at the highest courts in Europe. How do you expect her to learn feminine wiles if she never has a wooer to practice flirting with?”
    “Wooers are one thing she needs fear no lack of,” Willem said with a patient smile. “It’s the sort of wooers we get that are the problem.”
    “Anyhow it surely doesn’t count as flirting when the wooer’s voice has hardly changed,” Lienor teased.
    Before Jouglet could protest, Willem said, “Careful, Lienor, I asked him the other week over chess whether he might be a eunuch and he nearly gave me a bloody nose.”
    “And then you gave me a black eye,” Jouglet reminded him, sounding inexplicably delighted.
    “And then you gave me a kneeing I should have hanged you for.”
    “Well, at least we know you’re not a eunuch,” Jouglet pointed out, slapping Willem on the shoulder.
    The falcon made a mewling sound, sensing Jouglet’s nearness; the musician drew away. With a sweetly coquettish attitude, Lienor took her horse’s tasseled reins from the groom. “Jouglet, have you hunted before? You seem to be scared of falcons. How amusing.”
    “Lienor, don’t be rude,” said Willem.
    “It is my lady’s courtly way of showing affection, so the barbs are as caresses to me,” Jouglet said smoothly, and was rewarded by Lienor’s smile. The groom held out the reins to a second mount, a chubby chestnut, and Jouglet took them with a wary glance at the horse’s enormous head.
    “Wait until we have Lienor up and then my groom will help you,” Willem offered kindly, trying not to sound condescending.
    Jouglet looked so relieved that Willem, not for the first time, silently questioned the wisdom of taking his friend on this hawking trip. He was accustomed to being cajoled by his sister into dubious ventures— she had a history of getting into them herself, for all her demure posturing. And he had become used to it with Jouglet, who’d been his sister’s ally (and wooer) throughout their friendship. And so they were going hawking, although not three weeks before he’d vowed no more such outings. That vow had been made the day when, against all Willem’s best instincts, they’d convinced him to let them both tag along to a training session for some of the knights and squires stationed at the fortress in Dole. Lienor had merely been sunburned, and eventually repulsed by the excessive violence that her presence inspired. Jouglet, however, had jumped impulsively into a boxing ring with some of the older boys and briefly made a good showing— but ended up with bruised ribs and two black eyes, and was immobile for three days from the pain.
    When Lienor and her brother were both mounted, the groom turned to help Jouglet. The fat chestnut stamped a rear hoof, started a little, and lifted its head to listen to something far outside